Good Morning

Lady King has arrived.

Enough of my ego, though. The only reason it looks big is that I've got this fantastic facade to work behind. Lady King....here to discuss important matters such as, such as, such as herself? Yes. When has a blog been anything besides a form of validation?
I know this. I fuck feeling over in anxious turns of reason. Logic is like cocaine:

"Sssssssssssop pop I am, but I am not you:
Running, running from the dew
While you rot in fugit sweat.

—false conjugation.
Jesus knows it. God knows it. Pulling your hair, He drags a lady down for His existence.
Shall I drown for you, Lofty Ideas?
Tics?
Spasms?
A sudden breath?
Oh no, oh no, oh no, lord. I've cracked my teeth on killing beasts, and for man removed completely.
Cold sweat to see you going on,
Set upon by a trick of pinholes and blinders—See?
If it is A + B , then surely I am cured of black sides and boxes, the decayed fabric of human enterprise. Shit, I shoot statistic quick in a slick and solid line. In a bit—
in a Bit,


in a bit—
(breath)
Convulsions quit a quivering wit about jin-tender hues,
And take to coaxing synapse slips, rejections of the dew."

I try not to revert to polarities, though. They're too comfortable to be trusted. Yeeeeeeesssss, I am one of them. Those pretentious young adults who ache, ACHE to be deep. Perhaps my acknowledgment of this will make it less true?
I try to be fully objective, not just towards the world, but towards myself as well. I know that, for all my chinking logic, I have a uterus. Which has a hypothalamus. Which tells me what to do.
So you will see what you will see, as I see, or as not.
I like a line to have a rhythm to it. No stanzas or specific structure: just a stream of thoughts spelled out by words stripped of definition as mouths gape in visions of heart failure.
I am not always this convoluted. Sometimes I'm even down right coherent.


That all being said, I am Lady King. This is my brain.